


Promotion

by Shuckles



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien genitalia, Champion!Shiro, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Size Difference, also plenty of HC regarding Galra biology and reproduction, and overall AU, it's bad and honestly you shouldn't read it, kinda slow burn, title is going to change probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-04-13 15:36:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14115468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shuckles/pseuds/Shuckles
Summary: After months of being forced to fight in the arena, Shiro is being summoned to meet Emperor Zarkon. Little does he know what meeting him would entail.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so hey i'm not doing well lately so i'm gonna cheer myself up by writing a shamelessly self indulgent sharkon fics with weird alien genitalia and mpreg  
> cause i can and i'm sad, that's why. so yeah, i'm not a good writer, but whatever lmao

He had been risking his life for the amusement of the Galra for about three months now. It was hard to really know how long it had been since they had first made him fight in the arena, being in space with no natural light, but if had been around ninety days, give or take.

He didn't like killing his opponents, sure, but right now, he was just trying to survive. And he was. They had started to cheer for him, calling him their champion. Shiro didn't like it, but he wasn't going to call them out on it when it could cost him his life. 

So he just wiped off the blood that had splattered on his face after striking down his latest opponent, their large, pink and white body covered in bright blue blood; ignoring the thousands of Galra who were cheering for him. He lifted his prosthetic arm for a moment, before his eyes locked on to two sentries. Right. The battle was won, so they'd bring him back to his cell until the next one.

The audience was still cheering as he left the arena with the sentries, relaxing a little bit. It wasn't like he liked his cell. It was a small room with a toilet, a cot that was fixed to a wall and covered in a thin mattress and a sink so he could at least wash himself.  
A small, uncomfortable cell was still better than to kill others for the amusement of his captors, though.

He was ready to take the now familiar turn left after one of the long, dimly-lit corridors when the sentries instead turned right, leaving him oddly startled.

“Aren't you going to bring me back to my cell?”, he asked, looking at their expressionless, featureless faces. If they could, they probably would have given him annoyed looks, but instead, the one to his left made a soft, whirring noise as it replied.

“Prisoner Shiro. You are being escorted to bathroom B-95,” it said, it's voice even and calm. That just confused him more.  
Why was he being brought to the bathroom? In the three or so months and two dozens of fights before, he had always been brought to his cell. And now he suddenly was being lead to some ominous bathroom?

His feet suddenly felt way more heavy than they should as he kept on walking. He felt tired, the magenta lights that lines the corridors making his eyes and head hurt. The sentries to his sides didn't say anything and he could only hear the quiet whirring noise that always seemed to surround the lower parts of the ship.  
It helped him sleep when he was in his cell, but right now, it made him feel anxious.

 

After what felt like hours, but probably had only taken around ten minutes plus a short elevator ride, the sentries came to a halt before a large sliding door. A regular Galra guard was standing In front of it, his bright yellow eyes landing on Shiro.

“Champion, you were summoned to the throne room. Get cleaned up. Fresh clothes have been provided,” he said in that odd, carefully enunciated way the Galra seemed to prefer.  
Shiro could feel himself pale at that. Why did they want him at the throne room? What was he supposed to do there? Did they want to reunite him with the Holts?  
Did they want to kill him?

The guard cleared his throat, moving his arm across the sensor that opened the door. Steam almost hit his face as he stepped inside. It seemed to be a small, communal bathroom with about six, similar to the one at the garrison, just smaller. It smelled clean, though he couldn't smell soap.

“Your kind does have showers, I assume?”, the Galra behind him said, causing him to turn around and nod, still feeling out of it.  
“Good. Now go. Emperor Zarkon does not like to wait.”

That was enough reason for him to strip down. As he wanted to hang them over one of the stall doors, the Galra made a sound, pointing to what seemed to be a laundry basket or trash can. Their eyes never left his face and chest, seemingly either uncomfortable or uninterested in seeing him naked.  
“Throw them away. Your new clothes have been provided, as I have mentioned before.”

Shiro complied, dumping them into the bin. Next to it, on a wall-mounted shelf, a bundle of gray fabric had been placed, neatly folded and stacked. So it was the regular unitard and shirt the prisoners were usually put it. He picked it up and carried it to the nearest stall, hanging both the unitard and the shirt over the door before getting into it.

It was simple enough to turn on the water. A panel on the wall, similar to the one the sink in his cell had, connected to the shower head. A few touches and lukewarm water came raining down on him. Despite his current anxiety he had to bite back a moan at the first shower in months. For just a moment, he allowed himself to fully relax as the water washed off sweat and blood.  
He hadn't even realized that he had closed his eyes until he wanted to get some soap.

With the initial euphoria fading away, he sobered up as he turned around, looking at all four walls of the stall. On the door, next to the clothes, there was a small shelf containing a good dozen or so palm sized containers and around the same number of what looked like gray plastic cylinders. Grabbing one of them and popping off the lid, he found that they were filled with a pale pink opaque liquid. Which did look soap-like enough. It didn't have much of a smell, but as he scooped some up and put it in his hair and felt it turn to foam, he shrugged, using it as he would use shampoo and soap.  
As he closed his eyes again and washed himself, giving himself another few moments to enjoy getting clean, he couldn't help starting to feel anxious again.

Sure, the Garrison had trained him for first contact with alien lifeforms, but being forced to fight for their amusement and being taken to their emperor had never really been part of that. And it wasn't like he didn't want to flee, but right now, he didn't know how to. And then there was that issue with the Holts not being with him, either. He hadn't seen Commander Holt since a few days after their capture, and the last time he had seen Matt had been when he had saved him from having to fight Myzax.  
He knew that fleeing by himself to get help would be the smarter option, but he did not want to leave them hanging, either.

He sighed as he rinsed his hair and face, blinking a few times to make sure there weren't any suds in his face.  
Maybe meeting the emperor would give him the chance to explain everything. Maybe he'd be able to tell him that Earth didn't plan on invading the Galra empire, that him and the Holts had just been on a mission to retrieve ice samples, that they would not cause any trouble if they were allowed to leave.

Shiro made sure that he was fully clean – more for his own comfort than anything else – before turning off the water. He supposed he'd just throw the empty soap container away too once he was dressed, but that just gave him another problem.  
How was he supposed to dry himself off? He hadn't seen any towels outside, and there weren't any in the stall, either. 

He could hear the Galra outside clear his throat and took that as a cue to speak up.

“I can't find any towels,” he simply said. 

“On the door. Now hurry, I do not want to get into any trouble because you are wasting time.”

Shiro's eyes fell back to the containers and cylinders on the stall door. As he grabbed one of the cylinders with his left hand, he felt thin, smooth plastic and what seemed to be fabric underneath. Well, he guessed that made sense. With how huge and advanced the ship was – hell, it had actual showers and probably an on-board clarification plant – he had expected there to be actual towels too, but those probably were only for the higher ups.  
Shiro unpacked the small towel. It reminded him of the ones they had used on the way to Kerberos, just gray and not pre-soaked in water.

It was good enough, he guessed, and started drying himself off, taking the opportunity to think about nothing before going back to worrying about everything that was happening right now.  
The shower had felt great after months of only being able to wash himself with slightly bigger wet wipes or just cold water. His hair was finally clean again and for the first time in what seemed forever, he didn't smell of sweat and old blood anymore.

The towel left his skin flushed, smooth and warm. Getting dressed almost felt uncomfortable, with the fabric slightly clinging to his skin, but as he stepped out of the stall, fully dressed, his hair messy but clean and his mood ever so slightly having improved, he caught the Galra's gaze with a small nod.  
His ears perked up and he watched him throw away the empty container before activating the sliding door again.

“Walk next to me, Champion. And take care of your hair. Make it look presentable,” he said, his tone still formal but calm. Shiro had expected him to be more annoyed by now, but if he was, he didn't show it.

As Shiro started walking and doing his best to smooth down his hair, the Galra had his hand on his prosthetic arm to lead him. The advanced tech made him able to feel the grip, but it wasn't uncomfortable enough to make him want to shrug it off.

Alright. This really was the last opportunity to think about what to do and say. The shower had calmed him down enough to clear up his thoughts. If he had to be clean, he guessed he wouldn't be killed. Maybe he really was just summoned to the emperor to explain everything?

It was a nice thought, though, and he concentrated on it as the Galra lead him through the corridors in a brisk pace, not giving him enough time to map out the floor plans. As they stepped into one of the sleek elevators after what seemed like a good twenty minutes of walking but was probably more, he turned towards him, giving him a flat look.

“Good enough,” he said curtly before pushing his hand against the reddish-pink panel, typing something as the interface popped up. The elevator gave a quiet hum before starting to move, the gentle whirr surrounding him.

He probably could kill the Galra easily like this, he thought for a moment. Snap his neck or crack his skull with his prosthetic. Then, after the elevator came to a stop, he'd be able to run.  
Right now wouldn't be the time for that, though. It would just lead to him getting captured again. The throne room probably had dozens of guards and sentries, just waiting to rip him apart if he fucked up.

And, of course, the chance of him being able to just talk his way out of this was still there, and he didn't want to let it pass by like that.

So even though the ride took minutes, he kept his arm to himself. Causing trouble now would get him hurt in the best case and doom his and the Holts' chances to ever return to Earth in the worst.

-

The gentle click of the door unlocking and opening after a good ten minutes made him flinch ever so slightly but he didn't have time to dwell on it. The Galra made him step out first, before taking hold of his arm again, leading him down the magenta-lined hallways again. Up here, on what he assumed was the top part of the ship, the whirring and humming of the machines wasn't audible. Instead, it was almost eerily quiet, making him feel anxious again.

He dug his nails into his palm so hard it hurt as he inwardly told himself to man up. He'd be fine. He'd be able to explain his situation, and be able to return home together with the rest of his crew.

He hoped.

 

When they both came to a halt, Shiro swallowed audibly, making the Galra's ears twitch. There were no further guards or sentries, but that didn't really help his anxiety. As the man to his right put his hand against the somewhat hidden panel next to it, he balled his hands to fists again.

“Emperor Zarkon. I bring you the Champion,” he said, his already careful enunciation becoming even more stilted.  
The door slid open, and a deep, rumbling voice; one the broadcasts just couldn't compare to, made his blood run cold.

“Very well. Step inside, Champion.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the attention this has been getting! Every review, bookmark and kudos makes me smile. This is just a dumb, self indulgent little thing and you people still like it - I'm really happy about that.
> 
> Anyways, after a pretty long wait, have the new chapter! It's pretty gory, I suck at fight scenes and the pacing feels off, but still, I hope you guys enjoy it! 
> 
> Have fun!

Despite how ridiculously cavernous the throne room was, the atmosphere inside it felt almost oppressive. Shiro wanted to appreciate the fact that the walls were made of glass – or more likely a stronger material that was more sturdy – and made it possible to see the stars outside for the first time in months, but right now, he couldn't risk wasting time.

 

The pink and white lights were more dim and less hard on his eyes in here, lining the floor and leading to the dais and the huge throne.

Shiro came to a halt as soon as he saw the Emperor.

 

Zarkon cut and imposing figure, even while sitting down. He should have looked tiny in a room as big as this one, but as he sat on his throne, perfectly straight and clad in somewhat bulky red armor, he still seemed to take up most of the room with his presence alone.

 

His glowing purple eyes rested on him, their shine reflected by the edges of his helmet. A cloaked figure stood next to the throne, their spindly hand on the giant throne's armrest, next to the emperor's large, gauntled-clad one.

Shiro felt himself flinch as he brought it up, interlacing the fingers of both hands as he put his elbows on both armrests, not making a sound aside from the clinking of armor and the rustling of fabric. Even without talking or doing anything, he was intimidating. The cloaked figure was intimidating too, but in a different way. Shiro didn't know why, but they made his skin crawl.  
  
“Champion.”  
  
Shiro had heard his voice before, even just now in front of the doors, but standing before him, it had so much more impact. It was calm and monotonous and booming without really being loud. It made him feel ever smaller than he already was feeling, being on his own in this giant room.  
  
“I have seen the way you fight, Champion. It is a pleasure to watch you in the arena,” he said in that same calm voice. Shiro knew that it was a compliment but he couldn't bring himself to take it. He just stared up at the Emperor, silent.

“Tell me – Does your kind all fight so well?”

 

Oh fuck, that was a question. He got out of replying before but he had to reply to this. The Emperor's face didn't show any emotion but he was pretty sure that he wouldn't take lightly to being ignored.  
  
“Thank you...?”  
It came out far less confidently than expected but there was no reaction, which he took as a good sign.

“Some of us do. We are a peaceful planet, but we have military. Some people also train and fight for entertainment. We just... don't kill each other for that usually.”

 

Zarkon hummed in response. Shiro didn't know what to make of it. It did sound sort of pleased, though he couldn't be sure. The Emperor still had that same, stoic look on his face and the low lighting of the throne room didn't do Shiro any favors when it came to that, either. He was no coward, far from it, but right now, he had to be careful. He wouldn't be able to save the Holts and himself if he got himself killed now.

So he'd play it safe, even if it meant having to take it slow and to make sure not to accidentally piss off his captor.

 

The stare-off between them ended as Zarkon put his hands on the armrests again and gave him a slow nod. The cloaked figure next to him shifted as well, strands of white hair peaking out underneath their hood. Shiro stayed still.

 

“Hm. Very well.”

 

Zarkon sounded unimpressed but then again, his voice had not changed in tone or pitch. He was the very epitome of stoicism it seemed and Shiro could not read him at all.

 

“Champion. I look forward to seeing you fight again. Lieutenant Ryras.”

 

As if on cue, the moment Zarkon just barely raised his voice, the door opened again. Shiro didn't dare look back but he didn't have to. Quick steps closed the distance before a Galra dropped to his knees for a salute next to him. It was the same Galra from before.  
  
“Sire. Allow me to return the Champion to his cell,” he spoke, his voice just as stilted as before. Zarkon hummed again as the other Galra – Ryras – stood up again, keeping his head low. He stepped closer to Shiro, making him stand more straight too.  
  
“Take him away. And Champion-”  
  
Shiro was still looking up to him.  
  
“-I expect you to win your next bout in the arena. Do not disappoint me.”

 

Shiro felt ill as Ryras lead him out of the throne room and at the same time, it felt like some huge weight had been lifted off his chest. Zarkon's presence was terrifying in a way that was indescribable. Even Ryras seemed to feel a little relieved as they both got out again, even if he didn't show it. He looked at the Galra for a few moments as they continued their way to his cell. Then he sighed, looking straight forward.

 

He'd just have to be patient.

He'd get to escape and save the Holts someday.

 

–

 

Getting into the arena always made his heart beat faster. Now that he was the champion, he was being hyped up before his battles, being made to fight last whenever he was out in the ring. He was the main event. The thought of being so powerful was what made it easier to actually go out and wreak havoc, but no matter how loud the masses were chanting his name, it didn't really get easier.

 

Tonight, a few days after being brought back to his cell, he was the main event again. Already, the smell of gore was reaching him. Half a dozen prisoners had given their lives in one on one matches already. A beast the Galra had captured on some new planet had torn apart four more just now. It was being lead away and Shiro swallowed. In a few minutes, he'd have to go out and kill again. He'd have to kill to survive.

And so he would.

 

As he grabbed a large weapon that reminded him vaguely of a glaive from the rack they had provided for him, an older looking Galra stepped up to him. He remembered him from earlier battles but he didn't know his name.  
  
“It's time,” he said and gave him a shove towards the already opened gate. The chanting of the spectators got louder and Shiro could see two large, insect-like aliens in the middle of the arena. His opponents. They were looking around, their huge black compound eyes wandering over the crowd.

The Galra gave him another shove and he stumbled before holding his head up high as he entered the arena. That was what they wanted from him. They wanted to see their Champion, the man who struck his opponents down without mercy. It was what kept him alive.

 

The audience – thousands of soldiers in armor, a flood of blue, purple, red and black –started cheering even louder. He could hear them chanting his name until he came to a stop, erupting into cheers again. He raised his weapon, the enormous insects keeping their two sets of eyes each on the blade.

 

Shiro wondered if they were sapient. They looked truly monstrous, like an eight feet tall cross between a cockroach, an earwig and a cricket, with giant, clawed hands and enormous mandibles. Were they animals? Or were they prisoners the Galra had taken off another planet?

 

He had to brace himself as the smaller one made a dash for him, screeching as it leaped and made a dive for him. The audience cheered as he jumped back in the nick of time, holding on to one of its mandibles and using the momentum to leap over it, driving the handle of his weapon into its neck. Its carapace protected it but it still stumbled forward, giving Shiro the opportunity to turn his weapon around, stabbing it in its back. It went in an inch or two before he pulled it out.

The insect screeched and so did the other one as it closed in as well, breaking into a sprint, swiping at him with its claws.  
  
Shiro had to dive under it to escape the attack and again, he used the momentum in his favor, holding on to the exoskeleton covering its lower body with his prosthetic as he slid underneath its legs Even over the cheering, he could hear the disgusting ripping noise of it getting loose and separating from the soft tissue. The hideous, pained trilling sound the alien made as it stumbled hurt his ears but by now, he ignored it. He was in full survival mode.  
  
Getting back on his legs, he ducked under a swipe from the smaller creature, keeping his focus on the bigger one. Bright blue blood was dripping off the disconnected piece of its exoskeleton as it lunged at him again. Shiro just barely managed to close the distance between them again, jabbing the handle of his glaive into the gap between natural armor and soft tissue. The creature trilled in pain, but he ignored it and put his full body weight into it, using the weapon as a lever. The effect was instant. With what sounded like breaking a lobster's shell, the plate got separated fully. The alien screeched as a big part of its outer shell dropped to the filthy ground, leaving its organs without support. Shiro tried not to gag as it lashed out at him again and this time, it didn't miss.  
  
“Hng-”  
  
It was strong. Even in so much pain with its stomach hanging out, it had enough strength to hurl Shiro across the arena. He landed painfully on the ground, his bodysuit ripping on his thighs, the weapon falling out of his hands and landing a good ten feet away from him. With a gasp, Shiro staggered to his feet and made a dash for it but just as he grabbed it, a shrieking noise made him whip his head around. The smaller, less injured alien was in the air, its translucent wings spread, vibrating with an angry hum as I dove down, pinning him to the ground.   
  
Those black compound eyes glared at him before it shrieked again, lifting its left arm. It took only a split second, but to Shiro it almost seemed like slow motion as it brought those sickle-like claws down. He reacted in the same split second, holding up his Galra tech arm. The creature didn't have time to react to it's bright glow. The hard shell covering its hand-like structures broke upon contact, splintering into fragments that hit his face like shrapnel.

Rearing up in pain, the creature unwillingly became a perfect target and Shiro's mind focused on one word alone as he spotted the flexible, soft-looking purple tissue that connected the plates of it's crab-like shell.

Kill.

 

The blade of his glaive slid into the soft tissue easily, even with the bad angle he had to work with. It trilled in pain but Shiro continued, thrusting it all the way in. The cheering got louder as he used the leverage to throw the creature off him and got on top of it in the same, semi-fluid motion. Its carapace gave off a crunching noise as it tried to shake him off, its five pairs of limbs flailing widely. Like a beetle on its back, Shiro thought.  
  
They were chanting his name again and it got his blood pumping. Shiro twisted the blade inside of the alien's chest, causing it to trill and screech in pain. Then he yanked it out, and the effect was instantaneous. The armor cracked and that same bright blue blood spurted out like a fountain. It was as good as dead, but that wasn't enough for Shiro.

The audience wanted to see the deathblow and so wanted Shiro. No, not Shiro.

The Champion.

 

Its huge eyes were no match for the blade of his glaive as he stabbed it down into its brain. The alien wasn't even twitching anymore. It was dead, and the crowd went wild again.

He pulled the blade out, lifting his arm in triumph – something he'd hate himself for once this was all over – but it wasn't over yet. His short moment of celebration was interrupted by an angry, high-pitched trilling noise. And by a pair of mandibles that closed around his waist, lifting him up in the air and not even giving him enough time to react to the pain.  
  
“Argh-”  
  
The grip on his waist was tight and painful, but the dagger-like grooves on them were worse. As they dug into his sides and broke fabric and skin, right into fat and muscle, he felt panic rise up inside of him. It took him a few moments of being suspended in the air with thousands of Galra looking at him.

One of them was Emperor Zarkon.

 

On a half-covered podium that was lit by magenta and white lights and decorated with banners showing the insignia of the Galra empire, Zarkon was sitting on a less ostentatious version of his throne. The hooded figure was still with him, and his eyes were on Shiro. He couldn't see his expression but those glowing, purple eyes were staring right at him.

 

Shiro felt a cool shiver running down his back as he snapped his attention back to the insect-like alien. He wouldn't die here.

This wasn't about impressing Zarkon or giving the crowd what they wanted, not for Shiro. Shiro wanted to survive, but the Champion...

He wanted this.

 

And so he gripped the mandibles, one in each hand. The grip on his waist was tightening. The alien was ready to break him in half and they both knew it. If he didn't stop this, they would both die. He could see its organs throb as they were hanging free from its lower body.

 

No, he wouldn't die. He'd live through this. He was the Champion and he couldn't die here.

 

Letting go of the glaive, his own grip tightened around its mandibles as he tried to pry them apart and the sound of the hard material breaking was like music to his ears. The insect shrieked again as one half of its mandibles was crumbling under the pressure of Shiro's prosthetic and he felt his suit getting soaked in his warm blood as the grooved left his body and stopped plugging the wounds they had caused. He fell but caught himself before giving it another opportunity to attack him. His prosthetic hand pulsed with energy as he raised it, ignoring the pain in his sides. He wanted to end this, and so he did.

 

The prosthetic worked like a blade as he leaped at the alien and brought it down. It cut through its shell and soft tissue in one fluid motion and Shiro couldn't escape the spray of blood as it's head and shoulders fell onto the ground. Its body stiffened as it followed and Shiro, for the first time in what seemed like forever, took a deep breath as he raised his arm in certain victory.

 

The crowd erupted into yelling and cheering his name again, a stark contrast to how overly formal the Galra seemed on any other occasion, but Shiro could only look at the podium where the Emperor was seated.

 

The hooded figure was leaning in and even from this distance, he could see their lips moving. Zarkon seemed to listen and finally gave a nod. Shiro swallowed as the figure moved away.  
  
“Again, our Champion has bested his opponents!”

 

The announcer's voice tore him away from Zarkon and he nodded towards the Galra from before as he left the arena, the pain and disgust finally catching up with him. Grabbing his side, he approached the graying man and was surprised to not be faced with the familiar sight of two sentries ready to bring him to his cell again.

 

“Champion, “the Galra said as he placed his clawed hand on his back, pushing him along, away from the gate as the clean up crew rushed into the arena.

“You are to be brought to the med bay to treat your wounds. Lieutenant Ryras will accompany you.”

 

The fact that they'd treat those rather minor wounds puzzled him - they had completely ignored the broken wrist on his right arm for days before it got replaced, but he'd take it. Even if it gave him more time to think about how terrible he was feeling right now.

 

The sight of Ryras' furry ears and haggard face made him relax the slightest bit. He was left alone with him and fell into step next to Ryras as he started walking the familiar way to the med bay located on the lower levels of the massive ship. He felt a sense of déjà vu as he listened to the hum of the machines and the heavy steps Ryras took, despite the man being built in such a waifish way.

 

Still, aside from that, it was silent down here. The sentries they passed didn't say a word and Shiro didn't feel like talking either. It gave him too much time to think about everything that was happening, gave the anxiety time to spread in his brain.

Ryras turned to him, those glowing eyes narrowed, as if he had been reading his mind.

 

“The Emperor seems to have taken an interest in you. I wonder why,” he said, cocking his head the slightest bit.

Shiro felt his blood run cold at that. He had found it odd that Zarkon had him summoned to the throne room and talked to him like _that_ , but... interested in him? In what? His fighting prowess? Did he plan on making him fight in his ranks and aid him in conquering the universe?

 

He felt sicker than he probably should with those little stab wounds in his sides and alien blood covering him from head to toe as they arrived at the med bay and Ryras ushered him in.

 

Shiro didn't really know what to expect anymore. Things were shaping up to be stranger than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! If you want, I can provide little doodles of the OC-Galra and other aliens to help you visualize stuff haha
> 
> See you in the next chapter :D

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah, chapter 1 is short and weird and only has shiro taking a shower basically and it's bad but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
